


Blood and Wine

by DragonsAddicted



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 04:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10733706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonsAddicted/pseuds/DragonsAddicted
Summary: In a time of determination and hope, blood and wine wreck tragedy in the hearts of lovers and friends.





	Blood and Wine

The wine shop felt small in the dreary evening. Grantaire was slightly sober and attempting to rectify it. The room was filled with a tension that could be sliced with a cheese knife. General LaMarque was dead, and was to be given a funeral to honor his service and pacify the people. No one in the room knew what was to happen there, but the room was full with a mixture of anticipation and dread. The men tried to relax as more wine was passed around, but while Combeferre and the others drank to their revolution, Enjolras had approached Grantaire, letting out a quiet greeting before sliding into the seat next to his.

            “Are you planning to attend?” An inquiry, directed from the sober to the drunk.

            “Perhaps,” was the only response.

Enjolras nodded, accepting the outcome, before informing Grantaire quietly

            “I would like it if you came.”

Considering the statement, Grantaire nodded, keeping a slightly drunken grin off his face to try and impress. His joy could be felt to the very depths of his bones, and excitement ran through his body like adrenaline.

            “I will go, since you asked.” he replied

Enjolras gave a small smile, his angelic features glowing with the small expression, and stood, going back to the center to do what Enjolras did best---lead a political discussion about the merits of a republic with slightly intoxicated men. Mood lifted, Grantaire soon joined them, nowhere near sober at this point, and made merry.

__________________________________

Come the morning, Grantaire had woken up from slumber on the floor of the wine shop. He winced at the sun flowing through the window, and his head throbbed with pain. Luckily, he had nothing to do tod-

Oh.

Enjolras.

The funeral.

The funeral with Enjolras.

Rushing to his feet, Grantaire took a swig of a nearby wine bottle for courage and sprinted out the door. As he pounded along the cobblestone streets, he sees the huge crowd of people gathered to honor the dead general. He saw Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and then, standing with a pride only a leader could have, was Enjolras. His hair glowed in the sunlight that snuck through the cloud cover, and his face was solemn in the bleak atmosphere.

Guards were everywhere, and the intense military presence brought tension into the already tight atmosphere. Grantaire watched the casket of the general as it was shown in the parade.

There was the thumping of hooves as a horse sprung out of the crowd and a man paraded in front of the soldiers. This was the only warning before all hell broke loose. A shot was fired, and someone in the crowd went down.

He was crowded from all sides, as the mob of people started to attack, wanting blood for the innocent, and Grantaire had lost sight of Enjolras. Cold fear coursed through his body as two more shots rang out. He saw a soldier’s hat fly off, but there was no other perceived effect of the other shot. Then he heard someone yell.

            “To the barricades!”

Enjolras. That was Enjolras. Enjolras was yelling. Why was he yelling? Where was he?

Then he saw him. Like a god descending from the heavens, Enjolras was standing upon Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s shoulders, the two below supporting his weight as he directed the angry mob towards where Grantaire had suggested the barricade in a drunken stupor only a few days before. He stood in awe as Enjolras’ silhouetted figure shone like a beacon, and his leadership shined through the tragedy that was formerly the parade. He looked saintly in the dreary light. Among all the chaos, if a gun was fired, it would not have been heard.

As per his request, people from the mob started moving toward the wine shop, the future destination of the barricade. Enjolras had jumped down, and Grantaire tried to follow him and Courfeyrac to the wine shop, but got lost in the mob, losing sight of his leader and friends.

__________________________________

Feeling lonely at losing his friend, Grantaire walked down to the wine shop, wanting to drink away his sorrows. When he was about to enter the shop, he saw Courfeyrac walking out. When he saw him, he pointed inside the depths of the shop.

            “Go see for yourself.”

Grantaire looked at him in confusion before crossing the room. The shop was lit dimly from the grey daylight outside. In the back of the shop, where the Friends of the ABC usually had political meetings, he saw Combeferre standing near the seated Enjolras, a hand on his shoulder. Enjolras was clutching his stomach, and Grantaire could see a pained look upon his face. As he approached the pair he heard snippets of their conversation.

“I may not make it.”

“You will.”

“I’m bleeding a lot, Combeferre.”

“Don’t be dramatic. Courfeyrac’s gone to get a doctor. Lay down. You’ll bleed less.”

“And what if there isn’t a doctor?”

            Silence fell upon the two men as Grantaire entered their vicinity. Enjolras was now lying down upon a table, and Combeferre still stood next to his prone body. Upon greeting Grantaire, Combeferre bid his farewells as he excused himself.

            “Stay here. I will go organize the people,” he commanded, and made his escape.

            Enjolras turned a tired gaze to Grantaire. He winced slightly and Grantaire saw a patch of red grow on his stomach.

            “I saw you at the funeral,” Enjolras said, bursting Grantaire out of his bubble. He frowned, “You were drunk.”

            “I was only slightly tipsy.”

            “Same difference.”

            Enjolras made a move to sit up.

            “Now if you excuse me, I have a revolution to lead.”

            Grantaire watched as he tried to sit up on his arm, still clutching his ribs, but it gave in from the weight, making Enjolras fall back to the table, hissing in pain.

            “Grantaire.”

            “Yes?”

            “I can’t feel my legs.”

            Grantaire knew nothing of bullet wounds, but he did know that Enjolras was dying, and he couldn’t do anything about it. He wondered when Courfeyrac and the doctor were going to get there. God, he needed a drink. Finding a bottle of wine in the near vicinity, he took a swig from it. He saw Enjolras’ face grow paler, and he went still.

            Whirling around, he saw Enjolras staring at him with lidded eyes. His limbs had long since grown still, and pressure on his side grew weaker as his arm grew slack. Grantaire quickly placed down the bottle of wine, and then rushed to his leader’s side, pressing the wound even as Enjolras let out a pained groan. There was blood on his hands, staining his sleeves, but he held steady until a few minutes later, when he watched the life in his leader’s eyes fade, and his breathing slow to a stop. His suffering had been over, and he died with the dignity of a soldier in battle, forever fighting until the last moment, until the point when death seized its clutches and dragged him away.

__________________________________

            Grantaire had long since stopped placing pressure on the wound, and now he just stared at the corpse of the savior of the revolution, cold and barren of life. His leader was gone, and now Grantaire felt an emptiness inside that he thought he would never be able to fill. Taking the bottle of wine from the floor, he chose to drink away his sorrows, which is where Courfeyrac found him, on the floor across from the body of their fallen leader, an empty bottle of wine falling from his grasp, as he embraced the cold clutches of death next to his leader and friend.

__________________________________

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a project. Thought I'd post it.


End file.
